


The Well of Souls

by TheFaye92



Series: Shield and Foundation [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Awkward Romance, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Inquisitor's POV, One Shot, POV Third Person Limited, Sexual Imagery, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-02
Updated: 2015-03-02
Packaged: 2018-03-15 22:48:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3464900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFaye92/pseuds/TheFaye92
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's cave sex. I might as well be honest about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Well of Souls

**Author's Note:**

> This is so clichéd it hurts, but I wanted to write it…you know how it is. Also, to change it up, this one is written in third person limited, but from my Inquisitor’s POV instead of my regular Blackwall POV.
> 
> Thanks to enc0432 for being a generally awesome beta.

**The Well of Souls**

“I can honestly say this is a new experience,” Genevieve Trevelyan was no stranger to snow, but she had never been trapped in a cave after an avalanche. It was cold, really cold. The bear fur cloak she had wrapped around herself didn’t keep the icy chill from penetrating her skin and sinking into her bones. 

 _At least,_ she thought, shooting a glance at Blackwall, _I’m not alone._

“Varric and Dorian will go back to camp and get help,” Blackwall said as if she needed to be assured of that. “They’ll dig us out.” She watched him rummage through his pack, digging out a few rations. The only light came from the little spell wisp she’d summoned, it was barely enough to breach the total darkness of the cave, but it was enough to see by and that was all that mattered. 

“I could make a fire if there was some wood down here,” Genevieve muttered, more to herself then to Blackwall. “It’s a fine predicament you’ve gotten us into, Serah,” she chuckled good naturedly. She couldn’t truly blame him for this, but it was fun to tease him and watch color rise in his cheeks from embarrassment.

Genevieve had taken them to Emprise du Lion where they were causing problems for Samson. They had been fighting a group of mutated Templars when Blackwall had carelessly blown into his war horn to signal Templar reinforcements. With the fighting, the yelling, the wayward spells, and then Blackwall’s horn, the mountain of snow above them simply couldn’t hold on any longer and it came tumbling down in a cascade of white. In the sudden panic, Dorian and Varric made for the high ground, but she and Blackwall had joined the fray on a lower plateau earlier on in the fight and it was all they could do to take cover in the nearest cave.

 _It did wipe out some Templars_ , Genevieve did not smile at so much death, but there was something almost symbolic about seeing all that red swallowed up and buried like that.

“I am sorry, my lady,” Blackwall stood up and took his own heavy cloak off and threw it around her shoulders. Genevieve hadn’t even realized she’d been shivering. “I did not think,”

“It was bound to happen,” she told him. She had only meant it as a joke, she hadn’t meant for him to beat himself up about it. “And it wasn’t your fault.” She kissed his cheek to assure him.

Blackwall smiled softly. “Can you brighten the wisp? I want to see how far the cave goes back and if there’s anything in here that can help us.”

“I can do better,” Genevieve took the staff from the leather strap she used to keep it fixed to her back, and gently tapped the ground with the end of it, mindful of the wicked looking blade she kept on it. The orb on the top of it emitted a soft white light that grew brighter as the seconds passed.

She raised up her staff when the glow was brightest and the cave filled with light. Blackwall picked up their packs and started picking through the bits of rubble in the cave.

“Lots of deep mushrooms,” Genevieve observed. “So if we run into spiders at least I’ll be able to make an antidote.”

Blackwall chuckled. “At least there’s that,” he continued to pick through the bits of stone and dirt. “Someone else had a campsite here once,” he noted, holding up a scrap of cloth coated in ash.

“Maybe they stashed some wood, a fire would be lovely.” Genevieve followed Blackwall with her staff. Each tiny movement of her staff made their shadows dance along the wall and it reminded her of a time when she was little and making shadow puppets for her younger brother. Now she had parlor trick spells that made dogs out of smoke and dragons out of sparks and the thought that she couldn’t share those spells with him made her heart ache.

“My lady,” Blackwall waved his hand in front of her face.

“Oh,” Genevieve blinked. “Sorry, I was day dreaming,”

Blackwall smiled. “I found another cavern, come and see.”

Do to the strange shape of the cavern it was a wonder Blackwall had even noticed the passage at all. But there it was, long and narrow. It looked like a natural part of the cave, but they couldn’t be sure. Just a few days ago they had found a Grey Warden outpost full to the brim with darkspawn, Genevieve hoped this passage didn’t lead to another nest. She dimmed her light and followed Blackwall into the dark.

Blackwall led, his sword drawn just in case. If they had to, they could run back to the main cavern and she could use a spell to break some of the rock and block the darkspawn.

“Did it get warmer?” Blackwall whispered. And indeed it felt like the air was getting warmer the deeper into the cave they went. The floor felt slick and Genevieve noticed a patch of moss. She sniffed the air and took a few steps ahead of Blackwall. She found a bigger patch of moss and kneeled down to examine it.

“Oh,” she touched the moss with a gentle finger. “Smell the sulfur in the air?” she asked. It was nothing but a light tinge, but it was definitely sulfur. Blackwall took a moment and then nodded. “And this moss likes humidity; we’re near a hot spring.”

Blackwall smirked. “Then I suppose we’re lucky,” he winked. It took her a moment to recognize the glint in his eyes. And she had to immediately ask herself if he meant it. Would she mind? Would it bother her? They had cloaks but they’d never…well there was the hay loft, but Blackwall had used the hay bales as a bed…

Fearing she might have been silent for too long she said; “We’re in a cave, love,” and turned her attention back to the moss.

He chuckled. “I know, I know,” he offered her a hand up and added; “we should check for darkspawn first.”

Genevieve giggled. “You know everyone says I’ve gotten quite saucy since I met you, but I must say Serah, you have become most untoward.” She could not help the smirk that came to her face; it was far too much fun to tease each other.

“I am but a man of low station, my lady,” Blackwall bowed and then stood up and stole a kiss. “Hardly worthy to bask in your greatness,”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, ser,” she smirked. “Maker, if there really are any darkspawn about we’ve certainly let them know we’re here,” She blushed softly when Blackwall winked and promised to protect her.

They drew deeper into the cave until they found themselves in a wide chamber. There were a few pools of tricking water, each steaming and bubbly, the smell of sulfur was strongest near the larger of the pools, but it wasn’t over powering. Genevieve brightened her staff so that they could see into the deep recesses of the cavern, nothing but solid stone, moss, and steam. Not a single darkspawn in sight.

Genevieve doused her staff and summoned a few wisps for light. It was too hot near the spring for both her coat and Blackwall’s. Blackwall took his cloak back and laid it on the ground by one of the smaller pools.

“Despite the humidity,” Blackwall laid his sword and shield down on the ground and started fiddling with the belts that held his breast plate in place. “This seems better than a fire.”

Genevieve nodded. She put her coat beside Blackwall’s and sat down. “Definitely,”

Now that they had laid out their cloaks and had started removing their more uncomfortable bits of armor, she wondered if the _topic_ might come up again. Genevieve tried to think back to a time when she had ever used the word “sex” or had even used the term “love-making” without immediately thinking of Sister Rosa.

The elderly sister had been the head of the little chapel at the Circle in Ostwick. Genevieve had arrived at a young age like many of the other mages and by the time she and the other children had reached the age of eleven the Chantry sisters had separated them out by gender. The boys went off with one of the senior Templars while Sister Rosa mentored the girls about their…feelings.

The sister had refused to refer to them as anything but that— _feelings_ and _urges_ and _changes_. And as mages, it was strictly forbidden for them to give into any “feelings.” Demons and possession was thrown about, severe punishment was tossed in for good measure, and then softened with “it’s natural for little girls to have urges; but as mages it can be deadly. You have to be on your guard and never give in to _temptation_ ,” Genevieve was certain she might have been able to recite the lecture from memory because it had been so horrible to her eleven year old self that it was permanently etched into her brain, not one uncomfortable moment to be forgotten. Especially when they started talking about bleeding and refused to take questions.

It wasn’t even until Genevieve was thirteen when she finally came to understand what their “talk” had been about. It hadn’t been nearly as bad as it had been presented, and now as a grown woman she could laugh at her younger self.

Even so, those insecurities still lingered. She still felt a little silly and flustered whenever she thought about sex. But at least with Blackwall it was natural, words didn’t have to be said—their desires were explained through kisses and touches. And always in the comfort of her quarters. Never in a cave.

She thought that maybe that was what bothered her, that this was a cave and not her bed. That she was still really new to all this. To romance, relationships, intercourse…and using clinical terms made her feel worse.

“Maker’s balls,” she cursed, sighing and running her fingers through her hair.

Blackwall turned to her and frowned; it was unlike her to say such things. “What is it?” he’d been watching one of her wisps wafting back and forth.

“I want to talk about us,” she muttered. She could feel the redness creep up her face. The circle has sheltered and to the point she wasn’t always sure how to broach this kind of topic.

“And what about us?”

“You know, _us_.” She grumbled feeling stupid and girlish. _I’m twenty-eight, for Maker’s sake, just say it._

Recognition dawned on his face. “Oh,” he frowned. “When I said—Genevieve I didn’t—I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I would never press you into something you don’t want to do.” He wet his lips and took a deep breath.

“No, that’s not it,” she worried her lip with her teeth. “I am terrible at—this. At romance, at relationships, at sex.” By mutual, unspoken agreement, they had decided that it was always best to talk about something before it stewed into resentment. It was a product of his betrayal, but in the end it made them stronger.

Blackwall nodded sympathetically. “Genevieve, you’re young—”

“I would use the word sheltered, but whatever.” She gave a self-deprecating smirk. “Or awkward, that works too.”

Blackwall reached a hand over and she took it. He smiled. “I love you,” he said. “I love that you love plants, and that you have a sweet tooth. I love the way you sing and the way you dance, and the way you trade insults with Dorian like you’re in a duel, or when you become the Inquisitor and then change back to Genevieve just as quickly. But I especially love that you turn pink when you think about us as if it’s some brand new adventure,”

Sweet words and a simple touch. That was all it took. She leaned over, splayed a hand across his chest and kissed him. It was easy to fall into him, to let his arms encircle her and pull her into his lap. The smoky, male scent of him washed over her senses, blocking out even the slight smell of sulfur. He was gentle, always gentle. As if he was still learning her and he feared that his little experiments in touch and sensation might harm her in some way.

 _He's such a sweet man_ , she found herself thinking. _And he doesn’t even see his own sweetness._ Of all the men in her life he had treated her differently from all the rest. Cullen was brave and noble but when he looked at her she could see in his eyes that he sometimes saw a little sister in need of guidance; even Dorian, (who called her “cousin” more oft than “Inquisitor”) sometimes. He looked at her and saw a foolish Circle mage instead of a fully capable warrior. But Blackwall, he never saw those things—he saw her in all her facets and in that strange tromping kind of grace he respected each face in turn.

Her fingers found the buttons of his padded tunic and he pulled away from her kiss, but only by centimeters. She could feel the brush of his beard against her lips when he spoke, his voice a low murmur that crawled through her veins to seize her heart. She wanted him to whisper in her ear in that low sweet voice of his. He wanted to know if she was okay with this, she responded by closing the distance between them. Because she didn’t care about the setting, she cared about the man.

It was a blur of feeling; a feather light touch across her rib cage, a kiss to the base of her neck, her fingers tracing the hard lines of his chest, the soft whisper of breathe against bare skin. She felt the strength of his arms and the kindness of his hands, he kept his grip light but still held onto her as if he was afraid it was all a dream. And she did too. There was always the lingering fear that she would wake up and be back in her dorm in the circle and that everything was a dream, even the terrible parts, but even worse—that the best parts, the parts with friends, with Blackwall, with joy and freedom and adventure—would be part of an illusion.

But if it was a dream, she never woke. And she was happy to keep it that way.

She wrapped her hands around his biceps. She could feel the strength in him, could sense the way he held back for fear of being too rough. The wisps winked out of existence as she forgot to keep them alive and they were enveloped in darkness and each other. Blackwall was tracing her with his hands and seeing it as only fair, she followed the lines of his muscles. She smoothed her fingertips over his chest hair and pressed a kiss to his neck. He lifted her chin with a gentle finger and spoke soft words of affection before capturing her mouth with his.

They shuddered together and the cave melted away. The world muted to gray. Everything else may as well have been nonexistent. Genevieve kissed him, deep and demanding. The pleasure faded, but the love did not.

It was hot now; the warmth of the spring kept the chill away and left little beads of moisture on their skin. They came apart, but only long enough for Genevieve to pick up her cloak and hang it over her shoulders before leaning down and kissing him. He pushed himself up on his elbows to reach her, his fingers traced down her forearm and he gently massaged the muscles there.

Genevieve summoned a few little balls of light. They floated over them like fireflies. She kept the glow soft so as not to hurt their eyes.

Blackwall sighed pleasantly and then lay back against his fur. His fingers followed the length of Genevieve’s arm and found her fingers. Genevieve twined them together but remained sitting. It had taken her some time to be this comfortable with him after his betrayal. They had been together many times since, but for the longest time she had dressed afterwards. She always assumed it had something to do with the way he had left her that night—naked, cold, _alone..._

 _Now isn’t the time to think about that,_ she thought. To distract herself from that train of thought, she took her free hand and combed his beard with her fingers. Her ministrations elicited another content sigh.

“You’re too good to me,” he murmured.

“Oh?” she smiled. “Isn’t this what people do when they love each other?” She pulled her cloak back up around her shoulder and then started to braid the center of his beard. He made no move to stop her, but his hand did trace up and down her thigh in a most distracting manner.

“Are you hungry?” Genevieve asked once she finished her braid.

Blackwall sat up and kissed her. “No,” he whispered against her lips. Then he pulled away so he could yawn.

It was infectious. The lights hanging over them faded slightly and Blackwall put his arms around Genevieve’s waist. He pulled her against him and they lay against the furs. Genevieve could feel the edges of sleep beginning to seal up around her.

Blackwall ran his fingers through her hair and gently massaged her scalp. Coupled with the warm and his tender affection, she closed her eyes and started to drift off. Darkness encircled her and for a while she slept.

That was until she heard the all too familiar and posh voice of Dorian Pavus. “Ah, naturally. You two are canoodling while poor Varric and I slave away trying to rescue you.”

Genevieve opened her eyes and remembered where she was. Blackwall was awake and doing his best to keep her covered with her cloak. Dorian was standing over them, Varric next to him, but he kept his gaze up at the ceiling. By the chamber entrance three Inquisition soldiers were holding up torches and trying their best to keep their eyes diverted.

“To be fair,” Varric muttered. “Sparkler here mostly watched,”

“Honestly Cousin, I knew there was an adventurer in there somewhere—and in a cave, Blackwall truly has had an effect on you,” Dorian chuckled.

Genevieve could feel the heat of embarrassment crawling through her veins and leaving a trail of bright pink from her cheeks to her ears. Varric snickered and she shot him a glare so harsh he silenced instantly.

“Alright, alright,” Dorian clucked. “We can all stop gawking, let’s leave them to dress.” He ushered them all out. “We’ll wait outside, and before you get any ideas, remember we’re out in the snow and it’s getting dark.” He laughed and they were left alone.

Sure that they were gone, Genevieve buried herself in Blackwall’s chest and wondered if she could just hide here for the rest of her life. But then Blackwall’s started rumbling, then a slight snicker escaped his lips, then he couldn’t contain it and he burst into a great fit of laughter.

She loved his laugh, it was boisterous and joyful and it filled her with a sudden mirth. Curled against his bare chest, she joined his merriment. And when she started giggling his laugh deepened and they were clutching each other, faces flushed from heat and embarrassment.

Genevieve kissed Blackwall one last time before they got dressed; and, still chuckling at their predicament, emerged out into the cold and regrouped with their friends.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it. I tend to enjoy the emotions that go on during an intimate act, so that's kinda why this was written. Like all my work, it's mostly practice. Thanks for reading it, I really appreciate it! 
> 
> If you get the chance, please check out my other works. I just finished up Two-Hundred Roses and it features Blackwall and Genevieve Trevelyan as well.


End file.
